


Dark Sky, Bright Lights.

by Saigoat



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Passing Out, Sick Character, delirious actions, not as much blood as usual, this is the mildest shit i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25892125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saigoat/pseuds/Saigoat
Summary: This Illness was all-consuming...unrelenting. Will wasn't so sure where he was anymore.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 20





	Dark Sky, Bright Lights.

**Author's Note:**

> First stab at a fic with no extreme gore so go easy on me like I went easy on Will ;-;

The world blurred around him, colors smearing into a sick amalgamation of reality. The ground seemed to roll beneath his feet, Will clung to the last shred of balance left within him. His hair clung to his forehead, sweat beading and dripping down his visage. Though the night air was cold against his pale skin, he perspired nonetheless. Eyesight doubling, fading, crossing, he could hardly keep his eyes from closing. Their lids weighed down with the fatigue that plagued his mind as well as his body. The Brunet wasn’t so sure how he ended up here… the trees stretching out endlessly around him...the sky above him dark and vast. As if the stars didn’t even want to shed their light on him, he was undeserving. When had he left the house? How long had it been? These questions would be left unanswered as he stumbled through the thick underbrush, the sliver of the moon proving to be rather unhelpful. 

Each step was laborious, the uneven Earth beneath his feet throwing him off balance. With the forest floor testing his limited motor function, it was a slow-going task. Will’s stomach roiled, the movement sickening him ever so horribly. His consciousness blinking in and out made it innately difficult to stay on track. He would focus in again and be in a completely new spot, the terrain ever-changing; a sickening kaleidoscope of foliage.

It all started to drift away

Darkness consuming his thoughts, the ground rushed up to meet him.

In the pitch-black sea that enveloped him, a stag emerged

Hulking and black

Its antlers were large scars, splitting the air asunder

Its eyes piercing and knowing

Light

The light came back to him, but Will was no longer sprawled on the wet, dense woodland soil. Instead, he lay tucked in tightly in a soft mass of blankets; it was disorienting, to say the least. His skull still pounded vigorously, the throbbing incessant and painful. With a grunt he sat up, fighting the cocoon of warmth keeping him immobile. How did I get here? He thought, Surely I didn’t walk?

The surroundings were familiar yet...he was sure the environment was entirely brand new. The careful placement of every knick-knack, every bit of decor...was eerily...recognizable. It would have been disconcerting if the fever raging inside his head wasn’t so furious and merciless. He brought his palm to his forehead, a grimace cemented on his hot face. Though his stability was questionable, the alarm bells inside him were blaring and urged him to discover where he’d been taken. The hallway was just as neat and tidy, paintings hung carefully and hardwood flooring kept pristine. 

A smell wafted throughout the townhouse, someone had been cooking. It had an unsettling home-y feel to the atmosphere, just waking up to a home-cooked meal like he was a kid again. Panting with the exhaustion of consciousness, Graham moved slowly down the steep looking stairs, following the scent of food. The foyer was the clinch-pin to his foggy memories, he’d been in Hannibal Lecter’s house enough times to remember its layout… though vaguely in his current state. Rounding the corner, the sickly man came face to...well...back with Dr. Lecter. Who was currently fussing over the stove, seemingly unaware of Will’s presence. For a moment, he stood there dazed, how had he gotten to this place? Did Dr. Lecter take him here? Or did He come here of his own free volition? 

“Ah, Will,” The man didn’t turn from his focus, “I see you’ve awoken.”

It was a nearly inaudible statement, the sizzle of meat hung in the air prominently. The kitchen was cluttered with items, yet there was an order to the chaos. Vegetables neatly chopped in one area, oil, flour, and various spices occupying another. The position of the ingredients was the least of his worries, how the hell did he get from the forest floor to Hannibal’s not-so-quaint abode. Come to think of it he wasn’t even wearing the clothes he’d left his house in, or so he thought. 

“Unfortunately, you happened to sleep through breakfast and luncheon,” He continued as if everything were peachy, “But I’d suppose you’d like to join me for supper...you must be famished.”

“When did I g-get here?” Will stuttered out.

“You know, food transcends language barriers...cultural barriers...all obstacles really. Humans as a species have toasted to good health, broke bread with enemies, come together to settle differences all over a well-prepared meal.”

His lengthy prose did little to answer the former’s question.

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“Less than a day.” It wasn’t an irritated tone, just resigned. “I found you without your wits about you in the wooded area not far from town.”

If Will wasn’t clouded by such an intense delirium he might have found distaste in the fact that Dr. Lecter might have been following him. The rational version of himself knew that he wouldn’t have been dawdling amongst the trees for leisurely purposes alone.

Weakly he gripped the granite counter, failing to be sly about his fragile health.

“I...I-i,” His voice struggled, “Ho-ow?... Did I end up here?”

“Like I’ve said...I happened upon you outdoors.”

Hannibal shifted the spatula in his grip, tossing the meat to the other side to brown. The demeanor he flaunted gave not even the subtlest hint towards his intention.

“You had us worried, Will.” He added loosely… most likely referring to Crawford or Katz. “You had me worried.”

“What do y-you mean?”

“Well,” He added as if it were a very simple answer, “What use are you to anyone dead?”

A very bleak outlook on the situation given the circumstances, his ‘use’ to anybody else was the last thing on his pain-ridden mind. It was nearly insulting to think of his life boiled down to the assistance of others, that all they needed from him was a twisted insight. It only hurt his head to try to comprehend it further, he was already having a hard time staying upright. Apparently he had been standing there for quite a while in a foggy silence, because by the time he found his train of thought back on some semblance of a track, Hannibal was plating his creation. The ladder didn’t seem to mind Will’s prolonged mental vacancy, going about his meal preparation and the setting of the broad table that took up most of the elegant dining room.

“Beef Bourguignon, rosemary dinner rolls, and a 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild red wine.” The Doctor gestured lightly to the two set plates and glasses gracing the large dining table, the look on his face stony and unreadable. 

“W…?” Words eluded him, the heat clouded his thoughts, he still felt weak.

“When one is ill...it is best to nourish the body.” A small smile hovered on his features. “Why don’t you join me for supper, Will?”

“I...I, uh.” He sat down, his curly locks still stuck to his forehead in a sheen of cold sweat, pale face indicating the worst of it wasn’t over. His mouth was profoundly dry and his sinus clogged, he could hardly enjoy anything food-related in this state but he listened anyhow for some reason that was unbeknownst to him. The hard wooden chair beneath him was grounding, the rest of the room’s design was intimidatingly odd for some reason. Wide paintings...ostentatious chandelier, he’d been here before but in this mindset, it was a whole new version of eerie. Especially when Dr. Lecter sat haloed in the dim light like some kind of demigod…

“I think...ink I need to go to the hospital.” The dark-haired boy could hardly get a word in, “I-I don’t fe-eel so well.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal picked up his silverware, idly taking part of his handiwork, “You are in control of your state as you have always been Mr.Graham.”

The vague rambles didn’t ease his panic, he just sat there...glassy eyes locked onto their hazel counterparts. After enumerable minutes of quiet, he grabbed his fork, hesitant to try his stomach against any type of nourishment. The meat was warm and savory, going down rather easily with the soft cooked vegetables and bread provided. While his mind swam, drifting in and out of focus, he ate…the heat was a welcome change to the shivering cold that had plagued his existence lately; Seemingly unable to shake this prolonging illness. 

“T-thanks…” It was barely above a whisper, he felt almost embarrassed that he nearly forgot his manners in this peculiar situation. He wasn’t quite sure that they were quite required in this odd instance, but base instinct kicked in he supposed. 

The slightest smile lingered on the doctor’s face, an unnoticeable twitch on the stoic visage the man usually kept. Lidded eyes watched their guest meekly enjoy the food he’d worked so diligently to prepare for when Will regained consciousness. With a satisfied sip, he indulged himself in the wine, watching the other’s every jerky, confused movement idly.

The struggle to keep his eyelids open was a battle for the ages, they felt heavy and kept fluttering closed… his neck like a weak swivel as his head nodded errantly every time focus began to slip away. Will had reasoned the only thing keeping him from face-planting directly into his plate was the ice-cold chill wracking his body; Not to mention an underlying fear… a gut-wrenching paranoia that the man would never admit to aloud. It aided in the fight to keep his spine erect and his wits as about him as currently possible; Will was positive if he fell into the inky blackness of unconsciousness again that he’d never return. Or perhaps… he feared Dr. Lecter doing some unthinkable horror to him in that vulnerable state. Stomach roiling, he gingerly set his utensil down on the clothed surface that seemed to pitch below him.

“Really.” He tried to make his voice sound stern, serious, anything but weak, “Thank you for y-your hospitality but I mu-ust be on my way.”

The moment he tried to stand and make a swift exit, his body failed to catch up and the feeble man ended up crashing to the floor. Propping an arm on his chair he tried to get up once more but his legs refused to listen to him; vision blurring in and out of focus... he worried he might just make an unfortunate mess of Hannibal’s dining room floor.

A sudden scraping sound broke his muddled thoughts, the taller figure elegantly getting to his feet to stride over to the crumpled mess on the ground. He stood above him for a second, looming shadow blotting out the gentle light. Dr. Lecter crouched to place a cold hand on the brunet’s forehead, humming almost defeatedly at the heat cloying on his skin.

“Perhaps you should rest.” It was so soft he thought that the doctor was speaking to himself.

In one smooth motion, the other man picked him up as if he weighed nothing at all, holding Will close to his chest and securely with both arms. Everything spun sickeningly around him as he was lifted up; instinctually he clung to Hannibal in an attempt to not topple over again. The cool contrast of his skin against Graham’s was comforting, though the dark was clawing at his vision again...hungry to take him under once more. He faintly wondered if his last moments would be in the doctor’s grasp.


End file.
